‘Spitting fire at my rough handling of him, no doubt,’ Merlin guessed—accurately!—a wry twist to his lips.
Arabella smiled in return. ‘To put it mildly,’ she acknowledged.
The dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘And now you’ve been sent to calm the troubled waters,’ he derided mockingly.
‘I haven’t been “sent” anywhere.’ She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘I’m hoping that the only troubled waters we have are those back at the office; I left my father and brother in no doubt as to how I felt about their interference in our relationship,’ she explained grimly, having assured her father before she left this morning that if she couldn’t straighten this situation out he was going to hear more on the subject.
‘“Our relationship”?’ Merlin echoed softly.
She could feel the heat in her cheeks at the obvious mockery in his tone. ‘That of author and editor,’ she clarified sharply. ‘I—’
‘Tea’s ready, boy,’ Andrew called from the house.
‘Perhaps Miss Atherton has decided not to stop for tea,’ Merlin returned dryly, although his gaze remained firmly fixed on Arabella.
‘Of course she wants tea, boy,’ the gardener admonished tauntingly. ‘Do you think she’s driven all the way down here to be sent away without even a cup of tea?’
Arabella knew that her father would agree with Merlin’s earlier remarks about Andrew’s familiarity; the servants at their family home were rarely seen, never heard, and the household ran like clockwork. But it was obvious that these two were more than employer/employee, that they had a friendship that seemed to go back years. Merlin should consider himself blessed, not cursed, she thought.
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she accepted lightly; at least she was going to get inside the house! ‘Although perhaps I should go and get my bag and lock the car up before I do that,’ she added thoughtfully.
This might not be London, but she still didn’t want to leave her bag in an unlocked car some distance from the house. When she’d arrived earlier she had thought it best not to have anything in her hands that might look in the least threatening. But she had some paperwork in the car that she would need if she were to talk to Merlin.
‘Will the dogs be OK now?’ She still hesitated about making any sudden moves in their presence.
Merlin eyed her with a scowl. ‘You took a risk earlier, just getting out of your car like that.’
It had either been that or turn tail and run, as her brother had done. After her contemptuous anger towards the two male members of her family, she’d had no intention of doing that. Although she had a feeling that might have been the reason Merlin had left them loose in the first place...!
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she assured him lightly.
‘No hurry,’ he dismissed with a careless wave of his hand. ‘Just make your way back to the house when you’re ready.’ He turned towards the house, the two dogs trailing obediently at his heels.
Arabella gave a rueful smile to herself as she walked back to her car. Although things had certainly changed since her father had first taken over Atherton Publishing twenty years ago, a time when the publisher had wielded the power, most of their authors were nevertheless still thrilled at a visit from their editor. Merlin had made it obvious her being here was just an inconvenience to him. But then, he was one of the best-selling authors of today and would immediately be snapped up by another publishing company if he were to find they were invading his privacy.
After collecting her bag, she made her way into the house by the same way the gardener and Merlin had, finding herself walking straight into the kitchen. The two men were seated at a solid oak table that dominated the centre of the spacious room, while a lady in her sixties provided them with tea, cakes and scones. The latter looked mouth-wateringly home-made, but after her long drive Arabella had to admit it was the tea she was most interested in.
‘My wife, Stella.’ Andrew introduced her as Arabella came hesitantly into the room. ‘This is Rob’s publisher, Stella,’ he explained with relish, obviously still greatly amused that his employer’s editor had turned out to be a woman.
Arabella had hoped to discover what Merlin’s first name was; after all, not everyone could call him ‘boy’. Especially as he must be in his late thirties. Rob? She looked at him sharply. Could it be that his name was Robert, like his hero? He didn’t seem about to tell her!
‘Please call me Stella,’ the housekeeper invited warmly as she placed a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of Arabella, having seated her beside Merlin.
‘Arabella,’ she returned lightly, before gratefully sipping at the tea.
‘What a pretty name,’ the housekeeper said spontaneously. ‘Sounds like one of your heroines, Rob.’ She smiled at her employer; she was a small, plump woman, with hair almost as white as her husband’s, and brown eyes that twinkled as much too. Obviously this was a happy household, even if their employer was more than a little taciturn.
Merlin grunted at the comment, his gaze fixed morosely on the bottom of his teacup as he drank from it. Physically, Arabella acknowledged, he looked just like his hero, Palfrey, although there were no laughter-lines on this man’s face, no warmth or humour in his blue eyes, something the Palfrey character had in abundance. But Merlin wrote the Palfrey books, so he must be possessed of a sense of humour. Mustn’t he...? Not when it came to unwanted visits from his editor, obviously!
Suddenly he stood up abruptly. ‘Shall we take our tea and go through to my study?’ He looked at her with coldly compelling eyes.
‘Of course,’ Arabella agreed; at least he was going to talk to her. It was a step further than Stephen had got, and that had to be better than nothing. She directed an apologetic smile at the elderly couple as Merlin instantly turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Arabella with no choice but to follow him. She wasn’t apologising for Merlin’s behaviour—the couple must be used to that by now—she was apologising for not doing justice to the afternoon tea the housekeeper had provided; Merlin hadn’t given her time!
His study was like that of so many other authors she had seen: the desk was the dominating feature, a large leather-topped mahogany one in this case, behind it a bookcase full of reference books. The only difference she could see in this room was the lack of a word processor; most authors used them nowadays. But Merlin’s, manuscripts were always neatly presented, so he had to have one somewhere, making her wonder if this was actually the room that he used to work in.
‘Sit down,’ he invited curtly, already seated across the desk from her himself, the dogs on either side of him.
Now Arabella knew what it felt like to be a prospective published author seated across from her in her own office: a bit like being back at school and being hauled before the headmaster for some misdemeanour. And the dogs definitely added to the feeling of menace in the room. As the seconds, and then minutes, passed once she had sat down, that feeling didn’t diminish!
‘I take it you did receive my letter?’ Arabella was finally the one to speak.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed harshly, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair to look at her with narrowed eyes.
‘So my being here isn’t unexpected?’ she persisted determinedly; remembering the dogs and the open gates, she knew damn well it wasn’t!
‘A. Atherton’s presence here isn’t unexpected,’ he acknowledged coldly. ‘Your presence...’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I had no idea the A stood for Arabella.’
Or he would have asked for another editor years ago, the accusing statement implied. Did the fact she was a woman mean she wasn’t a good editor?
‘I had no idea your first name was Robert, either,’ she said lightly, but just as pointedly.
He